I have three brothers and two sisters.

You would think I’ve seen it all but I haven’t. Nope. Like this…

This thing Benjamin does when the mood strikes, or when we have a far distance to walk to in a rush. In this case we were dashing to a bush to so he could pee because the church was all locked and there were people praying very loudly in a room near the other bathroom.

So back to the thing.

Benjamin crouches down on all fours, starts growling and then starts leaping like a possessed person. Note the hooked hand that adds an extra special freak out effect.

It really, really creeps me out. And while other parents at the playground or wherever see this and say, “how funny” or “how cute”, I’m standing there like, “seriously? That doesn’t look totally freaky to you?”

And don’t try talking to him when he’s leaping or growling or whatever it is because he will only snarl back at you.

Thankfully when he’s all through my Benjamin comes back but it’s only to laugh at the expression on Mommy’s face.

And then I just want to kiss him up like crazy.

—-

I would write more but I’m still sick. Turns out when you start your own business and become a full time blogger in the span of three weeks your body gets mad at you. The doctor says it’s bronchitis but it feels like the plague.

John Bear is sick too.

Yuck.

In the meantime, my best friend and recent single mom Mia has been writing – find her latest post in the single moms forum.

I took this picture of her last weekend. I just love her so much and it’s so hard to watch her go through this knowing there’s little I can do to actually take away the pain. I can’t tell her it will all be better soon because I know it won’t – it takes time.

And despite the time it takes to heal from what he did, it takes even longer to adjust to single motherhood.

Time though is a wonderful thing because it’s always, always moving. I remember when I would tell myself “just get through the next hour” and then it turned into “just get through the next day” and eventually “the next month”.

Now it’s the opposite, I want time to slow down so I can “enjoy this minute, enjoy this hour, enjoy it all because I’m home free.”

She’ll get there. She will.  And when she does we’ll go out and get shitfaced to celebrate. And I’ll say, “I told you it would all get better,” and she’d say, “I know, I know you did and it’s SO amazing.”

Until then go lend her your ear or your words.

Related posts:

1. Boys vs. Men
2. Do day care bugs ever end?
3. A sweet little reunion.

My son can’t wait to be a man. 

You don’t have to know him very well to instantly see that inside of this little three-year-old is a strong, tough guy waiting to come out and do man things all day.

Take my Uncle Dennis’ truck for example.

There is no place on Earth Benjamin would rather be than sitting in the back taking a donut break.

That’s why I’m going to hold pictures like this for ransom. 

Oh! And those underwear he has on – he calls them “panties”.

I did NOT do that on purpose.

I swear.

I honestly just called them panties for two weeks before it dawned on me, “Hey, that doesn’t sound right.” 

Too late. Panties they will be until someone else can convince him otherwise. See the rest of our Easter photos here – Martha Stewart would have a heart attack.

Happy Easter! 

We’re heading down to grandma’s today with Mia and Sydney, who are both doing really well (I’ll bug her for another post). 

—–

My ex’s request and hate mail [updates]

I’ve  decided to let Benjamin’s father keep him for two nights this week. Your advice on that was, as usual, spot on. My favorite tip is to take it week by week, see how it goes and always let Benjamin say if he wants to stay or vice versa. It’s all about Benjamin and if he wants his dad then he gets his dad. And even though my ex-husband has even expressed desires to go back to Canada, he’s still here. And I shouldn’t deprive my son of his father while he still has one around.  

I also do believe, especially after reading a comment from Canadian Bald Guy (a single father himself) that men can change as fathers because the children change. 

If you’re looking for something really awesome watch his video in response to  my hate letter. He basically tips his hat off to single mothers in a big, big way. Coming from a single dad that means the world to me and so did all of your comments. The world, people. Seriously. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

You all made her words disappear in an instant. 

No related posts.

Maybe I gave up.

Maybe I just didn’t want to hear another “I can’t” or “I’ll try” – each one cutting a bit deeper than the last.

But somewhere along the way I just stopped.

I stopped asking my ex-husband to spend more time – time outside of his 36 hours a week – with our son.

So I’m not sure why, when Benjamin refused to let go of his father this afternoon, I said, “he needs you now, more than ever  – maybe you should spend more time with him.”

And then, the reply came that I’ve been wanting to hear for three years, “Yeah, maybe I should keep him two nights a week. I’m working the night shift now on Thursday so I could keep him Wednesday night and bring him to day care on Thursday morning.”

“But if you do that,” I said, “if you commit to spending more time with him you have to be around. You can’t be moving, to Chicago or anywhere.”

“You say that,” he said, “But I think you’ll be the one who moves.”

He had a point.

We’re both transient spirits and even though I have no intention of moving right now, there’s no predicting what the future holds for either of us.

Who am I after all of these years of daydreaming for him to take Benjamin more often to deny them that time together? He may not be the most supportive ex-husband financially or emotionally but he does love his son – immensely – and he’s always loved him as best as he knows how.

“I’ll think about it, okay. I’ll let you know.”

So I’m thinking about it.

Thinking about what it would be like to have an ex who steps up more often and wondering if he was really serious. I’m also, of course, hoping some of you will make sense of this for me.

Can men, as fathers, change? Could it just be a lot easier for my ex because Benjamin is a boy now, not a toddler or a baby?

For more posts on my ex and my take on our relationship as co-parents read on:

• This shit ain’t easy (a bedtime story).
• When is Daddy going to bail?
• The man in the kitchen.

Related posts:

1. His father wants to take him…I’m freaking out.
2. She’s pregnant. Should she tell the father?
3. When the long lost father resurfaces.

Because today was Benjamin’s first and his last third birthday and because I didn’t buy him a single present in Austin I spent my lunch break on a mission.

My mission was to buy everything I would need to transform his room from a nursery/toddler room… 

[Click to continue, although, be warned - there are TONS of photos in this post and a video - although I think you won't believe what you see. I still can't believe I pulled it off]

to a big boy’s room.

I only had 45 minutes to do it because the birthday boy himself was patiently waiting for me at his day care. Where he looked a little confused when I arrived shouting something about this thing called a “birthday”. 

When we got home I told him there was a big surprise up in his room and so up we marched… and I, of course, turned on the camera. I’m so glad I did.

While he played in his new room I ran downstairs to wrap presents, order pizza and put the cake in the oven.  

Then two of our favorite friends, Justin and his son, came over. While Benjamin hung out with his buddy in his cool new pad, Justin helped me move all of the furniture wedged in the hallway and at the bottom of the stairs down to the basement.

Benjamin didn’t seem to notice.

Then I attempted to cover the cake with whipped cream. (This picture is blurry because I was laughing so hard.)

But some sprinkles and candles turned the cake into the perfect Ugly Cake.

And then it happened. 

Benjamin turned three.

For the first and the last time. 

Hard to believe how much he’s grown. We don’t stop growing when we’re adults either… at least I hope you haven’t.  

That would be boring as hell.

Happy Birthday Mr. Benjamin, may you always be as free as you are now.

Related posts:

1. Saved by the men.
2. This shit ain’t easy (a bedtime story).
3. A note from the war zone:

My first memory is of toddling behind my mother along a dark hiking trail somewhere out West. 

I must have been about Benjamin’s age.

A few hours earlier we had all split up. My father and some of my other siblings stayed on top of the trail while my mom and the rest of us went in. And now we were completely and utterly lost. In the quickly fading light all we had seen were the yellow buffalo crossing signs. Soon we spotted a road. We waited until a car drove by, flagged it down and hitched a ride back to the parking lot where my frantic father was waiting. 

Some say your first vivid memory defines your personality. 

Does this mean I’m lost? Or afraid? Sounds familiar.

But I’m finding my way. I’m finding it through the eyes of my son, the most amazing thing that could ever happen to someone fearful of love is finding someone who loves you unconditionally. And through him I’m learning how to let someone love me. 

On our trip we didn’t get lost. Not once.

And all along the way I couldn’t help but wonder which one of the memories will be his first.

Seeing his first plane 

or riding on one?

Or will it be his second flight when the raisin snacks from the first flight gave him a vicious poop attack? (Thanks mommy). Poor kid was screaming his brains out. Luckily the nice man sitting next to us was beyond accommodating. We made him stand up at least six times but he smiled every time. 

Maybe it will be driving up to the house we rented in the heart of Joshua Tree. 

The view from the kitchen table. 

The cowboy bath tub.

The drive down the mountain to get firewood. 

The coyote we saw along the way.

The sunset pouring through the windows in every room. 

Or maybe it will be meeting one of his mommy’s greatest friends

and his beautiful daughter whose eyes seem to radiate hope.

Maybe it will be one of those. 

But if I was a betting woman I’d put my money on the moment when he escaped while mommy was busy packing to scale this hill in the back yard. 

When he got to the top he shouted, “Look, Mommy, lookie! I made it! All by myself! I made it!” 

He needs to stop growing immediately. And we definitely need to take more family vacations. 

I did discover something in the desert… that my son is ready to travel. And that, my friends, is an unbelievable thing because traveling is – by far – one of his mother’s favorite things.

Before our last flight Benjamin and I were running through the airport to let off steam. We were both laughing and panting at the end of our race, still high on the adventure behind us and on the adventures to come. Five years ago his father and I had been running through an airport laughing. We’d just been cleared by the INS. Somehow my gorgeous French-Canadian boyfriend had been allowed back in the country, and after they’d stamped his passport we bolted off in a full sprint trying to catch our flight. The immigration lawyers would tell us later they’d never seen a stamp like that before. 

It had an expiration date. 

Three weeks later we’d be married. And one year later I’d be pregnant with Benjamin. 

Traveling always brings good things. Always. No matter how they appear at first and no matter how difficult, there’s always something magical on the journeys we take whether they be to a place or somewhere deep in our hearts.

The trick is finding your way back home.

Related posts:

1. Gone Baby, Gone

They die hard.

Still haven’t had a cigarette. Went through some major withdrawal attacks this weekend but Morgan was there to cheer me on… and I made it. This is hard though. I miss them already. Those evil little cancer sticks. I’m not sure if I can do this. I’m just not. But I know I don’t really have a choice. Live or die, baby. It’s that simple.

Aside from daydreaming about taking drags from my toxic friends this weekend was incredible.

Morgan and Lucca drove up from Kentucky on Friday night and by Saturday morning it felt like they’d been here forever. She and I are so alike in so many ways, but so different as well. She’s an eternal romantic while I’m a bit of a jaded cynic who protects my heart to a fault (sometimes). But while I know nothing about true love I do know quite a bit about achieving financial independence. So we swapped stories.

She coached me in the ways of love (which I swallowed as best I could) and I gave her pointers on how to “make it” – man or not. [Read Morgan's version of the weekend here - and see many more photos].

And as for our little guys – they hit it off instantly.

Turns out Benjamin and Lucca could be twins. They are little clones of each other – down to their wild party spirits, penchant for making their mommies laugh, mini tantrums, stubborn dispositions and even their kamikaze acrobatics. They’re little voices even sound the same. I was shocked. Still am.

Check this out.

Photos: [Top photo: Morgan, Lucca and Benjamin in the alley on the way to the coffee shop; Second photo: by Morgan Siler of me, Lucca and Benjamin in my kitchen. See more pictures from the weekend on her Flickr account]

Related posts:

1. Animal Attraction
2. One bitchin’ hang over.
3. Single Mama Signing Off (for a few days)

I like to call Benjamin my hero.

Because he is. This little guy is my guy and my reason for doing all that I do, day in and day out. I wouldn’t have it any other way because at the end of every little storm he’s there waiting with a big sloppy kiss. But lately I can’t help but notice that Benjamin is growing up on me.

Today we had a snow day. My office, his school – both closed. Before I found out our office was closing I sent my co-workers this e-mail, thought I would share…

Benjamin has a snow day – that means I have to take one with him.

HA HA – SUCKERS!!!! Having kids is great – you should all go out and make one immediately!

I’m so professional. I love it. Not sure if anyone in my office found that e-mail as funny as I did, but it had me laughing for a good two minutes. I am such a dork for admitting that and sharing it. Please don’t make fun of me. And to all of my co-workers – thanks for putting up with me all of the time. I know I can be a pain in the ass.

After a morning and afternoon inside Benjamin and I finally broke through the ice sheet over my door and hopped outside to get to work.

While I shoveled (finally found one in my garage) Benjamin used his push cart to clear snow up and down the drive way. And while I heated up the car he spent a few minutes scraping the ice off of his form of transportation.

He’s also cleaning up after himself, serving himself juice, even helping me find things. But he still throws tantrums and needs tons of cuddling. It must be an odd place for a little man – on the verge of discovering so much.

Today while surfing through my archives I found this post – Prince Charming Can Kiss My Ass – it’s a little testament to Benjamin’s creation. Something you should read if you missed it… short but sweet and, as always, filled with some thought provoking questions.

—–

And also, two of my dearest single parent blogging friends would appreciate a second or two of your time.

1. Visit SwapMamas.com.

(For the love of saving some cash)

This is the pet project of my beloved Mommy Pie. She and I have been fans of each other’s blogs since way, way back – before most of you were even around. In fact I think there was a time when she and I were the only two people reading each other’s blogs. Her blog – unlike mine – will make you laugh out loud, every single day. The woman is hysterical.

(She’s also met a man, start here to see how and who).

So, back to Swap Mamas – it’s a social network for moms (and dads) who want to share their stuff. Easy as pie. Free stuff = good stuff. Join today and I’ll love you forever (so will Mommy Pie).

2. Give Matt Logelin a Bloggie

(For the love of beautiful blogging)

The Bloggies, awarded annually at SXSW Interactive in Austin, are to blogs as the Oscars are to movies. (Side note: I am planning on going to SXSW again this year – if any of you are, let me know so we can meet up).

Bloggies are reserved only for the best of the best, like Dooce and Pioneer Woman. And Matt, if he wins, would be the first single parent blogger to get the honor. I also – being a blog fanatic – believe that his is a true work of art and one of the best, if not the best, blogs I’ve ever read.

The deadline to vote is February 2nd… cast yours here - and please have your friends and family do so as well. It only takes a second. You’ll find Matt in the Best Topical Blog category.

Related posts:

1. My hero.
2. The ultimate single dad.
3. Dr. Single Mom vs. the Pediatrician, and the winner is…

“You sound stressed,” my friend said over the phone. 

“Yeah, well, I guess I am.” 

Is this getting harder or am I imagining it?

Terrible-twos? Really? I thought it was the threes. He is almost three, but still… I think it’s me. I’m impatient right now. I’m bored and yes, I’m a little stressed. But not because of him. Benjamin is amazing.

“Mommy,” he says, “I need to tell you something.”

It’s a phrase he learned from said Mommy.

Then he cups my face in his little hands and tells me something about his day, his feelings, or the nerf gun I bought him. He’s awesome. It’s totally me. Or is it? I just don’t know because this is the first time I’ve done this mom thing and I’m doing it alone.

There’s no one to bounce all of this shit off of … am I doing this right? Or that? 

And it’s winter. I need sunshine. And it’s not just winter — it’s freezing. Last week the sun came out for one afternoon. Then the clouds rolled back in and we’ve been under them ever since.

I lived in Texas once – in Fort Worth. The sun never faded. When it did, the black storm clouds rolled through and they were gone twenty minutes later. 

Distant storms. You could feel them on the breeze, just a whisper in the trees.

I discovered words like those at live concerts in the hot, Texas air with cowboys every which way and my little sister by my side. We were single and free and so incredibly happy. Then I moved back up North… destiny threw Benjamin’s father in my path and the rest is history. Sun is important, people. Seriously. I’ll find it again. But this time Benjamin will be with me. 

I am also completely preoccupied this week because there’s a little adventure around the corner. 

I’m going on a trip – hopping on a jet plane. I’ll have to tell you where I’m going when I get back.

(Mia is watching Benjamin).

Mia is doing really, really well by the way.

In fact, she’s been so pre-occupied as of late she hasn’t found time to write. I know she’s not completely out of the woods. but she’s made some major progress. Sure, she’ll have false starts and a few seriously dark moments (maybe more than a few). But she’s just keeping on…

With all of you cheering us on it’s hard to feel like anything is impossible. 

I hope you know we’re cheering you on too. Single moms are phenomenal.   

—–

Oh, and I finally wrote about sex. Hope it helps. 

Note: To anyone who knows me in the flesh – DO NOT click that link. [That includes Mom (my mom) and Eliot (my little brother)]. If you do click that link you can never, ever hold it against me or make fun of me for it, because I told you not to. 

The rest of you – you know who you are – don’t click it. 

Everyone else, hop on over. 

It could be a huge disappointment – just warning you. I’m just giving advice to those weird married people on how to spice up their sex lives.

Related posts:

1. Momma Cum Laude’s daughter is here!!!

A girl has to get her hair cut. 

Especially when she’s leaving on a fun weekend escapade in six days (more on that later).

Unable to find a sitter, I decided earlier this week (thanks to my Twitter peeps) to just take Benjamin to the salon with me. The place, right down the street from our apartment, is an industrial type of salon and also doubles as a barber shop. Not your average frou frou place and being edgy and alternative I figured Benjamin would be welcome there. I’ve also been going there for four years, maybe more. 

I even asked when I made my appointment – just to be sure, “Is it okay if I bring my two-year-old with me?”

“Of course!” 

I packed up a book, a few toys, a coloring book with crayons and some treats and we headed to the salon. After my shampoo and two minutes into the actual cut (half of my hair was 2.5 inches shorter than the rest) the salon owner came up to me and told me very shortly, “Is there anyway you can do anything about this? We can’t have him running around like this.” 

I said, “I can try.” 

But I knew it was impossible. Hell, I was just happy Benjamin wasn’t throwing a tantrum or breaking things. From my point of view, his crawling around beneath my legs and gabbing with salon patrons was excellent behavior. Given this, if half my hair weren’t gone I would have walked out that moment. 

So the hair cut went on and so did Benjamin – my little rascal.

See him there on the floor… being sweet and having fun. 

The entire time I’m now very well aware of the owner’s glare.

From the front of the small shop and even while she sat in the back and ate her lunch, she was scowling and shaking her head. The rest of the staff members, including my stylist, were incredibly cool about it – playing with him, picking up his crayons when he dropped them in the middle of the floor, telling me it was “cool” and “not to worry.” 

In the meantime I’m realizing painfully that my son is not ready for a hair salon. I feel bad, actually, and decide that this won’t be happening again– for years. I even consider tipping everyone in the place. 

One hour later my hair cut is finished and I jump out of the chair. 

“Time to go Benjamin, c’mon baby.” 

I’m paying, gathering my stuff – frantically almost. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

When I turn around she is standing within six inches of my face.

The salon owner, who looks like she should be permanently fixed to the back of a Harley with streaky blond hair snapped out of an 80′s time capsule, is out for blood. Then she starts in on me – loud enough – for everyone in the tiny place, staff and patrons alike, to hear perfectly. 

“Out of respect for me and everyone in the salon I just want to say that – this,” she points at Benjamin who is now running around between our legs, “was completely disrespectful to everyone. My staff had to pick up after him and none of us could work.” 

“I understand and we definitely won’t be coming back again,” I say this expecting her to then leave me alone. But, no, she continues.

I can’t remember exactly what she said because at this point my brain is pumping with adrenaline and the butterflies are crawling through my stomach, the sobs are welling up in my throat and I’m also on the verge of punching her in the face. 

She went on berating me and then paused because Benjamin had just slapped her calf with his Bob the Builder toy. He does this when he’s running between people’s legs. Toddler tag or something. 

“If he hits me one more time,” she growls. 

“He’s two years old,” I growl back, “and I called and asked if he could come beforehand.” 

“We have two-year-olds in here all of the time and they are perfectly behaved.”

Then Benjamin hits her again. And she says it again, “If he hits me one more time.”

Instead I say, ”I would like to leave so he won’t be able to hit you. But you’re not letting me leave.”

And then he hits her again. 

At this point it’s all a blur. I grabbed my little man, scooped up all of our stuff and pulled him outside with no coat on. 

— UPDATE — 

I wanted to add that as soon as we got home Benjamin and I were both sobbing, crying messes on our couch. He was sad because I don’t think he’s ever, ever seen me cry that hard. I rarely cry. I didn’t want her to get the best of me… but this was just too much.

Just didn’t want you all to think I’m some kind of bionic woman. I’m not… at all. 

——

I’m still trying to sort it all out in my head.

Again, my mistake for bringing him there and the salon owner had every right to tell me not to bring him again — but she had no right to treat us like that, no right at all.  

Have you had any experiences like this? How did you react? 

I’m already brainstorming ideas for a mom review website or some kind of organization that gives mom-friendly businesses a seal of approval. Businesses should be held accountable for how they treat mothers… we are, after all, raising the next generation. Motherhood is not an easy job. Far harder than running a hair salon. 

If people were held accountable for treating parents this way, then perhaps, they would go out of their way to make our lives easier – not more difficult – in this way we could focus on what’s really important, our children. 

Airports have family lines now. Why don’t grocery stores have family aisles? Why aren’t staff members rewarded for helping a mother with her shopping? 

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve stood in line at a store with Benjamin on the brink of throwing a tantrum only to have the childless people in front of me firmly hold on to their place and also turn their backs. 

There have been exceptions… nice people who are friendly and improve my experience. From now on I’m going to give them the most enthusiastic thank you I can muster.

No related posts.

Please, please go away. 

We’ve been in some kind of a deep freeze for weeks now and I made the big mistake of checking the weather forecast today — and it’s not good. This cold snap isn’t going anywhere. Which means I have to spend another weekend inside with little Benjamin. 

I’m running on fumes, tired as hell lately and have exhausted all indoor entertainment options. He’s even bored with his new easel. I could sit here and bitch about the following things a single mom must endure in the absence of a man such as; freezing my ass off every morning while I de-ice my car, paying yet another outrageous heating bill solo or having to haul my garbage out in the middle of the night only to come back inside with frozen snot and a shudder like no other. 

But all of the above pales in comparison to this cold hard miserable fact –

I can’t wear my new suede boots. 

There – I said it. 

While the world is crumbling around us — something I spend an incredible amount of time fretting over — while people are clearly suffering, I am sitting here day dreaming about a snowless day when I can wear my new boots again. 

I should burn in hell. Immediately. 

But when a girl doesn’t have a man – especially when she has a little man – nothing makes her feel better than hot ass new boots. Hell. Told you. Hell. Don’t worry, my day will come but I’m bringing the boots with me. 

—-

Last weekend after I wrote this post I woke up on Sunday morning and realized our entire day was free. Then I had a brilliant idea. 

“Hey Benjamin – let’s go sledding!” 

“What Mommy?” 

“Sledding. You know. Oh, you don’t, do you? Okay, hold on – let me show you.”

I pulled up a YouTube video of a kid sledding. 

“See, you sit on the sled and go whizzing down a hill.”

He got the picture and we were out the door in a flash (a minor miracle, usually there’s at least 15 minutes of protest). 

We ran through Target shouting, “SLEDS! SLEDS! Where are the sleds?!!!!!!” 

That was fun. The best part about motherhood – not giving a shit what anyone thinks, well, for me anyway. If he’s happy, I could care less. And sometimes I have to act like a raging lunatic to make him happy. And besides kids like lunatics who scream. They can relate.

Twenty minutes later we pulled up to the little sledding hill. We lost his mittens weeks ago so I put some socks on his hands. He thought it was cool. And then surrounded by all of the dutiful fathers on the hill – no mothers in sight – Benjamin and I whizzed down that hill.

And I screamed my ass off.

It was unbelievable. We went again and again and again until Benjamin’s sock mittens failed him and we had to jump back in the car. 

These father jobs are actually pretty cool. I’ll have to start learning even more.

Just wish I could do them all in my sexy boots.

Related posts:

1. The birthday scramble and single mama shopping.
2. Chaos and calm.